


two politicians (both alike in partisanship) in fair washington where we lay our scene

by flying_snowmen



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, F/M, it's smut extra light, rated m in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 01:54:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3433499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flying_snowmen/pseuds/flying_snowmen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In hindsight, the Romeo and Juliet effect might have intensified their feelings, but there’s no point in trying to change the past.</p><p> </p><p>Or, Clarke Griffin, up and coming democrat, decides to run for president after marrying Bellamy Blake, renowned republican campaign manager.</p>
            </blockquote>





	two politicians (both alike in partisanship) in fair washington where we lay our scene

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So, to clarify a few things:
> 
> I've based their political leanings more on the way each party works, i.e. in the Democratic party, a rising superstar can show up out of nowhere whereas in the Republican party it's usually similar to a waiting list for who'll be the next nominee. When it's your turn, you run. I thought it worked best for Clarke to have just surprised everyone. I've also based some of this on Clinton's campaign because he had A LOT of scandal in his campaign and still won in a landslide. I've also borrowed from Obama's too. And a bit of Reagan's presidency.
> 
> Also, have a (slightly spoilery) timeline! The years are more for reference than a specific time setting for the story. Whatever floats your boat!
> 
> 2008: Clarke (34 years old) becomes governor of New Hampshire. Kane finished his term.  
> 2012: Clarke (38 years old) finished her second term as New Hampshire governor. Democratic National Convention year.  
> 2014: Clarke (40 years old) meets Bellamy (45 years old) during midterms  
> 2016: Clarke (42 years old) is elected president.  
> 2018 (present): Clarke (44 years old) is President.
> 
> As for political jargon:  
> Democratic National Convention: held every four years; basically an "infomercial" for a political party where the presidential nominee and running mate are officially announced and party leaders can speak about the platform  
> spinning/spin room: after a debate, supporters of a candidate try to "spin" the results in their favor  
> superdelegate: specific to the Democratic party; 20% of people at the DNC are pre-selected party leaders/office holders  
> Majority Leader: "chief spokesperson" of the majority party in the Senate (currently, Mitch McConnell)
> 
> If you couldn't tell, I'm taking U.S. government this year. (It's my favorite class, and my teacher is the funniest person ever.)

Clarke’s cure for anger and frustration is as follows:

          Step 1: Dance party consisting of rage music from her teen grunge phase.

          Step 2: The throwing of clothes all around her room, then careful placement back in the closet after ironing.

          Step 3: Dinner for one with an expensive bottle of wine.

The bottle for this particular occasion happens to be a rare burgundy wine her mother bought her after her inauguration. It’s been sitting in the cellar for two years now, and she had wanted to save it for an extra special celebration, possibly her mother’s official retirement from politics, but she supposes that her current situation will suffice.

A poor intern, Monty Something-starting-with-a-G, had delivered the Sunday tabloid. While it is often an _unreliable_ source, the news that her husband was cheating on her with a young campaign intern can still sting. There’s a good chance it’s not true, but when the claim has been made before, one can’t help but wonder about the merit behind this one.

Clarke had confronted Bellamy when he’d gotten back from his morning run an hour later, and things had _not_ been pretty-- apparently, people _don’t_ like being accused of cheating. Their fight consisted of yelling, wild and frantic gesturing, and the slamming of doors.

 _“It’s a_ tabloid _, Clarke!”_

She hasn't seen Bellamy since-- he probably went to a bar, _again_ ; and a few hours after he left, she made sure that he had Secret Service agents with him. (He had two.)

Clarke had changed out of her clothes and into some comfy pajamas with a bloody scalpel pattern she’d received as a Christmas present. Vice President Reyes had an almost morbid sense of humor, but Clarke could appreciate the joke-- after all, she might have become a surgeon if her father hadn't passed away when she was twenty-five. (He always thought she’d make a great president.)

In the last few hours she’d managed to dance angrily in front of multiple White House windows, tear apart and put back together her room (twice) and eat more food than a woman her size should be able to stomach. She’s nearly finished off the bottle of wine she’d opened with dinner as she stares out her living room window at the moon, now high in the sky.

Bellamy still hasn't returned.

Clarke loves the smell of wine. She likes to twist the glass below her nose and inhale the scent for a good few seconds before taking a small sip. Then, she repeats the process all over again until the bottle is gone or someone else takes it away from her and helps her up the stairs.

This time, Wells stops by to assist. He takes the almost empty bottle out of her tight grip and lifts her up into his arm, whispering something about their college days and returning the favor. Whatever he says, Clarke replies by nuzzling her face into his chest and murmuring a sloppy thank you as he carries her up the stairs to her room.

She and Wells have been friends for almost thirty-five years, and he loves to return to the place he used to call home. (How many people can say that about the White House?) She remembers running through the halls when they were six-- discovering all of the secret passageways, and doing their best not to be found by President Jaha (who never let Clarke call him anything else because he loved the way she’d instantly stand erect and salute him as he walked past her.)

Wells helps her sit down on her bed, allowing her to scoot back and nestle under the covers. With a quiet sigh, he kisses her on the forehead and whispers a ‘good night’ before heading toward the door. As he reaches for the handle, he hears Clarke stir and call out his name. He turns around and looks at her with deep brown eyes and a slight frown on his face.

“Thank you, Wells. I needed this tonight,” she whispers, hiding her face behind her arms because, even though they’re best friends, she still doesn't feel comfortable letting him see her tears.

“What are friends for?” He gives her a melancholy smile and shuts the door softly behind him.

Clarke turns in her bed and curls up into a ball, wrapping the covers tightly around her body. A few hours later, she’s still wide awake with tear-stained cheeks when she hears the door open quietly. His heavy footfalls tell her that he’s intoxicated-- more so than usual. She expects to feel the bed dip by her side and hear snoring after a minute, but instead she hears the ruffle of sheets and then his footsteps walking away. When she hears the door close again, she turns over and finds his pillow missing, as well as the book he’s been working on for the past three months.

Clarke cries again, if only because it’s cathartic and she hopes it’ll help her sleep, or at least get the sinking feeling out of the pit of her stomach-- it doesn't.

* * *

 

That night, she dreams of the past and hopes for its return.

 _“So, do you think your mother won the debate?” The reporter shoves a microphone in her face. She’s given this answer about thirty times for thirty different people, but she still says it with a trained smile._ Professional and educated _\-- that’s the image she needs to inspire._

_“Yes. Former President Kane simply could not give any solid answers to my mother’s questions about his failure to sustain a strong economy during his presidency. There’s no reason to assume he can do so as a Senator. My mother has been the Democratic Majority Leader for years. She knows what she’s doing and she knows what’s best for our country.”_

_Before the young reporter can ask any further questions, Clarke thanks the woman and walks away. It’s been a long night, and in all honesty, her mother probably_ didn't _win the debate. But that’s why Clarke is here-- to spin the publicity to her mother’s advantage. Spinning, however, always drains Clarke-- talking positively about a woman she doesn't always feel very positively about feels like lying. Clarke never really had a choice though-- when you’re running a re-election campaign, you can’t afford to have a daughter who doesn't support you._

_Clarke escapes the high school gym as quickly as she can, claiming a headache when her mother’s campaign manager asks. Jackson frowns as Clarke brushes past him. The crisp September air bites at the tips of her ears and cheeks as she slides out the gym door. She goes unnoticed as she walks around the side of the building and leans against the wall near some lockers._

_Clarke’s cure for stress are the following:_

_Option 1: Whiskey_

_Option 2: Masturbation_

_Option 3: Deep breaths_

_Seeing as the first two options are out of the question, she settles for deep breathing. (While in prison, her father told her that he would meditate to get through the day.) Clarke sucks in a large gulp of oxygen and leans her head back._

_“Now what is a Senator’s daughter doing hiding from the spin room?”_

_Her eyes open languidly as she glances over at the voice that just interrupted her calming technique. It belongs to a man with dark, slicked-back hair and freckles like stars across his cheeks. His eyes shine mischievously, and the smirk he wears on his face doesn't bode well-- but he’s intriguing, especially considering she recognizes him instantly_

_Bellamy Blake_

noun (proper)

_Republican campaign manager for Former President Marcus Kane, who is running for Senate six years after his presidency, a distinction that only belongs to one other                 former president: Andrew Johnson, who also happens to have another distinction - one of the only two presidents to be impeached._

_In other words-- the enemy._

_“Now, what is Marcus Kane’s campaign manager doing outside? He should be inside, spinning-- they’ll want to hear what the brilliant Mr. Blake has to say!” She turns her head and closes her eyes again. If she doesn't look at him, she won’t fall under the spell he’s cast over everyone else in the political world._

_He leans against the wall next to her and grins widely. “Not as much as they want to hear you, Princess.”_

_“It’s all a bunch of lies.” She whispers, opening her eyes to glance at the stars. Her father is up there somewhere. “They don’t need to hear the same deceptions from me again.”_

_“That's awfully cynical for a person in politics."_

_She laughs loudly for a second before remembering that she’s supposed to be hiding, "You and I both know that's a lie."_

_“I’ll give you that,” he laughs, holding up his hands in surrender. “So, if you so vehemently believe it’s all a lie, why are you still in politics?”_

_“I’m not one to stray from the family business,” she sighs, turning to face him. “But you-- you didn't have connections, did you? Your reasons for entering this duplicitous world are mysterious,” she smiles when he shakes his head. “Enlighten me.”_

_“Same reason as anyone else starting out,” he shrugs. “I was young and thought I could be the one to fix it-- all very idealistic.”_

_“And now?” She crosses her arms, tilting her head, “You still the same idealistic young man?”_

_“Depends.” He takes a slow step closer to her, looking down on her with a wide smirk, “Do you think luck is on my side tonight?”_

_She snorts but takes a step closer to him all the same. “Depends,” she shrugs innocently, ”Are you better at sex than you are at flirting?”_

_He smiles with his slightly off-white veneers, and leans close to her ear, whispering, “Why don’t you take a leap and find out? Come on, Princess, do something bad for once.”_

_Maybe it’s the fact that she still hasn't forgiven her mother for what happened to her father. Maybe it’s the fact that on top of that, her mother still wants her to pretend that they are this overly loving family that’s accomplished the American Dream. Maybe it's just the fact that she has been too busy the past few years to even think about sex, and this man is extremely attractive. Whatever the reasoning, she finds herself brushing her fingers against the hairs at the nape of Bellamy’s neck and pulling him down to her lips violently. Their teeth clash and she pulls his bottom lip into her mouth, biting it as she steps back after a few seconds._

_He stands there like a deer in headlights, and that makes everything worth it. Clarke smirks and holds back a laugh as his eyes slowly open, but then he’s smiling brightly with her. “I’m slightly offended, but I’ll get over it. Any other ways I can help you rebel?”_

_Now, Clarke is a mature and professional  thirty-eight-year-old woman, but hell if this man doesn't ignite in her some good old-fashioned teenage hormones and rebellion. So instead of walking back into the spin room and finishing her job, she grabs Bellamy’s hand and starts walking toward her car-- thanking whatever being is up there that the parking lot is populated by one species: machine. “I've got a few,” she says as she throws a smile over her shoulder and watches briefly as Bellamy’s eyes light up his face._

_It’s completely irresponsible to sleep with the enemy, but she’s attracted to him and he’s attracted to and she’s always bowed in the face of biology. Besides, no reports come out the next day with the headline,_

**Senator’s daughter and opponent’s campaign manager!**

**If Abby Griffin can’t be expected to control her daughter, how can she help control the country?**

_It’s silly really. Clarke is perfectly capable. Hell, she was governor of New Hampshire until two years ago-- but the last thing she needs is a reason for her mother to look at her with condescending eyes and let out a long, disappointed sigh._

_For whatever reason (spying, most likely), Abby Griffin does find out about her scandalous escapades, even when the press doesn't. With that newfound discovery, she storms into Clarke’s hotel room and informs her that she is making a big mistake and Bellamy is only with her to further Kane’s campaign._

_After getting over the initial sting (because hello, Clarke is gorgeous and can get a man for reasons other than political duplicity!), Clarke tells her mother that Bellamy is a horrible spy, who spent more time with his ears between her thighs than by her mouth._

_At that declaration, her mother scrunches her nose and sits down at the chair by the kitchen table. The Griffins have high standards-- and that includes staying exclusively in suites. (It’s not as if they can’t afford it.) “Still, Clarke,” her mother sighs and shakes her head, loose hairs falling out of her neat ponytail, “I don’t think it’s a good idea. He’s the campaign manager for our opponent.”_

_“No, Mom, he’s the campaign manager for_ your _opponent. All he is to me is a man with whom I have had sexual relations.”_

_“This is no time for jokes, Clarke!” Her mother stands. Clarke’s surprised she caught the joke-- vague references to former presidents of the nineties was usually her father’s forte. “The election is in two months, and we can’t afford any cracks in our image.”_

_“What, so if I sleep with Bellamy I’m a crack in our image?” Clarke pulls the covers around her body, padding over to her closet to pull out some fresh clothing. Bellamy left, thankfully, an hour before her mother showed up to start lecturing her like she was a teenager._

_“No, that’s not what I meant,” Abby sighs and shakes her head. Clarke closes the door to the bathroom and turns the faucet for the shower. She stands beneath the onslaught of water and sighs, running her hands over the hickeys that cover her skin. She hears her mother lean her head against the door. “Look, I know it’s been tough since your father… well, since everything, but you’re my daughter. Forever and always. I love you, believe me when I say that I do. But, I just worry sometimes. Bellamy is trouble-- I can feel it in my bones. Just...try to be careful. It could hurt you, too.”_

_Clarke nearly laughs at that. Her mother, much like her father, holds out hope that she will run for president and they will help make a better country together. That dream died with her father._

_After a few moments of silence, her mother walks out of the hotel room. A strange feeling is left hanging in the air, but Clarke decides her mother doesn’t get to control who she fucks. It’s one of the few things in life Clarke can truly control, and she will. Again, and again, and again-- and if she wants to see Bellamy again, she will. Her mother doesn’t get to tell her what to do. Not anymore._

* * *

 

_She and Bellamy date quietly until the election ends, deciding early on that they will never talk politics. After one conversation ends in screaming and shouting, they learn their lesson: business and pleasure are always separate. They have a week of angry sex and then move on with their lives._

_Abby wins the election, and Clarke waits for Bellamy to contact her. Three days later, with a knock on the door, a half-eaten pizza box, and puffy eyes, he is standing outside her apartment. She wraps her arms slowly around his neck and kisses him. A kiss that is different from the ones they’ve had before, because she’s won! But Bellamy’s lost, and it hurts more than she thought it would._

_The sex is slow and heated, looking silently into each other’s eyes until they come apart with soft moans and heavy breaths. He spends the night at her place, and that’s when she starts to think this is about more than just revenge on her mother._

_They deal with people (mainly her mother) who don’t support the relationship completely for a few more months. (In hindsight, the Romeo and Juliet effect might have intensified their feelings, but there’s no point in trying to change the past.)_

_Whatever the facts, one thing is totally and completely true: when Bellamy proposes to Clarke under a bright February moon on a deserted ice rink, she doesn’t hesitate to say yes. They elope a week later and spend their honeymoon locked away in his father’s home in the Philippines._

_It’s during that time she decides to run for president._

* * *

 

The next morning, they don’t speak to each other. He eats his breakfast in the kitchen while she eats alone in the dining room, silently reading over a bill about federal voter registration she wants passed in Congress.

After an hour, Raven walks confidently into the room and pulls Clarke up by her shoulder. "Come on, you've got a speech to give at Georgetown about this bill-- being president means you put everything on hold."

"You think I don't know that by now." She growls, and then feels her face flush in frustration. "I'm sorry, it was a long night.”

Raven gives her a small smile, "Wells called." She raises her hands as her smile grows wider, "So I brought chocolate."

Raven’s cure for stress, sadness, frustration, and anger generally takes the form of chocolate dinners. Clarke appreciates the sentiment.

Clarke pulls Raven into a tight hug,"You're the best VP a girl could ask for. We'll eat it in the car."

Clarke first met Raven six years ago at the Democratic National Convention. She’d been a superdelegate because she was at the end of her second term as  governor of New Hampshire (and also daughter of the Majority Leader in the Senate). After making a speech about unity and bipartisanship that met with thunderous applause, Clarke found herself shaking hands with Raven, the up and coming Senator from Florida in the second year of her term. The brunette had walked up and pointed at her with a smile. “You,” she chuckled, “are going to do big things one day.”

They became fast friends over the next four days, and vowed to keep in touch after the convention ended. Raven became a confidant of sorts, and they’d Skype each other to drink and laugh whenever the pressure of politics got to be too much.

When Clarke won the primaries, Raven had called her to set up a celebratory lunch. (She’d have to fly to Florida for fundraising anyway.) Clarke had decided to ask Raven to run with her as Vice President halfway through a chicken dijon, and Raven had simply smiled. A month later, it became official at the DNC. Clarke thought it was fitting.

* * *

 

_Clarke hates planes, which proves to be a big problem, considering she needs one to travel across the country to campaign. Every few days, she arrives early in the morning in a brand new town away from her home. She gives speeches all day only to take photographs and shake hands with people who claim they will vote for her in the general election because she is “so nice and smart and she’ll do right by this country one day”. She and Bellamy have been married a little over a year, most of which fell within their campaign run, and she feels distant from him-- the remaining five months feel more daunting. It’s hard to be intimate when you’re in a middle seat between your husband and your campaign manager. (Though, the airplane bathrooms have provided quick releases and silent laughs.)_

_“Ok, boys, time to move. I need to speak with our candidate,” Raven stands with her hands behind her back, looking expectantly at the man reading the newspaper and the one serving as a pillow for Clarke’s head. They both glance at each other before groaning and moving out of their seats. Bellamy looks longingly at Clarke before he leaves, and she's pretty sure it's because everyone on this place likes to ask him about politics-- they know it'll push his buttons. She winks at him, and he shakes his head before begrudgingly dragging his feet behind a chuckling Wells to somewhere in the back of the plane._

_Raven plops down in the aisle seat and pulls the armrest up so that she can turn to face Clarke. “So,” the brunette smiles, “talk to me.”_

_“About what?” Clarke yawns, and Raven gives her a pointed look with a clear message: don’t lie to me. “I’m just tired. This is more exhausting than I thought. I miss my bed.”_

_“That can’t be it!” Raven playfully hits Clarke on the shoulder. Raven’s playful hits are a lot more painful than she probably knows. “Come on, I can handle it. Lay it on me.”_

_Clarke lets out a heavy breath and leans back against the window, pulling her legs onto the small seat of the airplane. The two of them now face each other, and they feel much more like teenagers than women in their late thirties running to be the leaders of the “free world”._

_“It’s just…” Clarke pauses, hands held out in front of her as she tries desperately to find the right words. “What if we spent all this money? What if we dedicated all this time-- dedicated our entire lives? Put everything on hold. All to lose an election.”_

_“I know.” Raven’s melancholy smile does nothing to appease Clarke. “But you are intelligent, capable, and compassionate. You’ve got Diana Sydney beat in my eyes.”_

_“Stop being so mushy!” Octavia’s head pops up from the seat in front of them. She has headphones around her neck and a large beanie pushed up on her head. Clarke suspects she used it to cover her eyes from the light that everyone on the airplane insists on having shine brightly. They have work to do, after all. “Listen up, you two, a campaign is not easy. Believe me, I’ve seen Bell handle many. They’re hard work, and if you want to be president, you have to put up with the long hours and the little sleep and the distant thoughts of home. So buck up." The younger girl huffs, and turns around, mumbling something about sleep and everyone on this campaign being too uptight._

_“Well, there you have it.” Raven smirks, turning back to face Clarke after Octavia lectured them. Bellamy’s sister came partly to support her brother and her new sister-in-law and partly to be a journalist. The traveling press core has been with the campaign for a week or so now, and they usually congregate in the back of the plane to either sleep or write. Octavia hates the crowded space, though, and she dislikes having fair-weather friends, especially when those friends are journalists. She and Raven get along surprisingly well, though. “Listen, Clarke, I have faith in you and this campaign.”_

_“Thanks, Raven.” Clarke smiles, grabbing the other woman’s fingers briefly. “You bring a lot to the table, and I couldn’t ask for a better running mate.”_

_“Don’t I know it.” The brunette stands up, stretching her arms high above her head. She turns to the back of the plane and shouts, “You can sit with your wife again, Mr. Griffin!”_

_Bellamy walks back, grumbling. “I kept my name, thank you.” He sits down in the aisle seat this time, pulling Clarke’s legs onto his lap. “Everything ok?”_

_She smiles, nodding slightly. It’s been a tough year. “I just miss you.”_

_“I’m right here.” He chuckles, running his hand up and down her leg. “I’m always here.” Clarke turns the light above them off and pulls her legs back so that she can move to lie against his shoulder again. She kisses his cheek and murmurs an “I love you” before falling asleep to his arms wrapped tightly around her body._

* * *

 

The speech went well enough, though some people started shouting halfway through to protest the government’s need to involve itself in their lives. Whether or not they registered to vote was not the government’s issue. Clarke insisted that universal voting was good for everyone, but they just kept shouting. Security guards escorted them out, but Clarke didn’t truly recover from that. She continued with the speech and answered questions afterward, but no one seemed particularly interested or converted.

“Madam President, it’s time to head out.” Clarke turns and sees Miller waiting a few feet away by the door. She turns back to the loquacious student with a smile and an apology. The young man thanks her and leaves, albeit slightly dejected. “Madam President, the Prime Minister will be arriving in an hour at the White House. We really need to get back. Anya does not like to be kept waiting.”

“Thank you, Nathan.” Clarke smiles politely at her guard and follows him outside the auditorium. She’s the epicenter of a circle of secret service agents and police officers. A crowd of people outside starts cheering, and Clarke waves to them with a bright smile. Then, she feels Miller pushing her into the limousine forcefully.

She takes deep breaths as she sees a man being apprehended outside. He’s shouting something about his wife and the disease epidemic that had everyone worried a month or two ago. She registers Nathan’s hands on her stomach and looks down to see bloody fingers. He’s shouting to the driver to get them to the nearest hospital, and Clarke looks at Nathan. He’s telling her to stay with him, but she feels so exhausted. She wants to sleep. She hasn’t been able to lately. He keeps shouting at her, telling her to look into his eyes. His dilated, dark brown eyes remind her of Bellamy’s. They both have beautiful eyes. She starts to drift. It feels nice to drift. It gives her time to remember.

* * *

 

_It becomes sort of a joke that while Clarke makes the same speech on stage day after day, Bellamy makes the same one with the reporters. After every event, journalists ask the same question, and he always gives the same response._

_“Yes, I do support my wife’s campaign for presidency. She’s willing to do what’s best for this country, partisanship aside. She is tactful and intelligent, willing to compromise.” Insert charming laugh here. “So yeah, I guess I will be voting Democratic for the first time in nearly thirty years.”_

_Wells says that having the support of Bellamy Blake, a noted Republican campaign manager, would be helpful, and the two of them need to present a united front, especially considering some reporters constantly bring to attention their “hasty” marriage. Bellamy wins over moderate Republicans and conservative independents._

_The public likes Bellamy. People “could picture myself having a beer with him”. Clarke is an academic, and where she appears distant, Bellamy appears accessible. Wells claims that people view them as a “presidential duo”. They see Clarke as president with Bellamy as her advisor, whether or not that will be the case. Republicans are more likely to vote for her if they think Bellamy will also have a say._

_Wells did warn her against saying “two presidents for the price of one” because the last time someone said that, it backfired. Bellamy plays the part well, though. A caring husband who cares about the country just as much as his wife; a good man who supports her even though his ideologies are different._

_They always give interviews together, holding hands and exchanging chaste kisses so as to appear loving without offending anyone. Clarke doesn’t know if their love has become for show or if it’s real. Is using their marriage to further the campaign ruining any chance she and Bellamy have?_

_One month before the election, Clarke turns forty. She releases a statement on her website about how all of the public’s support has been the greatest birthday present she could ever have received and please remember to vote in one month and get your friends and family to do the same._

_She and Bellamy spend the night inside, but everything already feels strange. Without the microphone-yielding people and cell phones held out to record, they feel strange holding hands or kissing. They have sex, but it’s not very satisfying for either of them. They’ve been married for a year and a half, and they already feel like they’ve been married for forty. “The Thrill is Gone” plays on the radio station the next morning, and it makes Clarke start to choke up._

_She wins the election, but a month after she does an article comes out claiming that Bellamy had an affair with an intern. The woman, barely twenty, details the whole thing. Clarke doesn’t know what to think. A few months ago, she would have easily dismissed the story as false. Bellamy loved her dearly, and there was no one else. Now, she’s not so sure._

_When Bellamy comes home that night, he is furious. He yells that he never slept with her. He met her once, and that was it. He’d never cheat on his wife. He’s a faithful person. He loves her dearly. But Clarke never accused him of anything._

_When he wraps an arm around her waist that night, she feels uncomfortable with the weight. It feels choking. She leaves the bed once she hears his snores and goes to the couch to watch the late night news shows. She drinks a wine that her father had given her for her twenty-first birthday and cries. Bellamy finds her the next morning, snoring with her head against the back of the couch and an empty wine bottle broken on the floor. He carries her to the bed. She wakes up while he’s kneeling on the floor, crying. She runs her hands through his hair and he crawls into the bed beside her. He kisses her cheek, asking when they stopped loving each other. She cries. She doesn’t know._

_Two days later, the newspaper publishes an article apologizing, saying that the reporter paid the woman to tell a false story. “We strive to publish the truth, and this reporter has been asked to leave. We apologize to the Griffin family for the lies that have been told and any inconvenience they have caused.”_

_It makes things less tense, but it doesn’t matter. The cracks have been revealed, and that can’t be undone._

* * *

 

Her eyes flutter open slowly. The fluorescent lights of the hospital room are blinding, and the drugs are only just starting to wear off. She feels a weight on her hand and glances down to see Bellamy’s head resting there. He’s muttering something under his breath.

“-Christ Clarke, you can’t do this to me. I can’t lose you. I need you. I love you so much, damn it. Fuck, I know things have been tough, but you can’t just give up. If not for me, do it for the people who voted you in two years ago. They need you too. Jesus, Clarke. Please. Please, come back to me.”

“Are you done?” Clarke’s mumble is gravelly and forced, but it still makes Bellamy’s head shoot up to look at her.

“Clarke?” He breathes out with a dazed look. She tries to push herself up, but her stomach hurts. “Don’t,” he rests a hand on her shoulder, “you have a lot of stitches in your stomach and you don’t want them coming out.”

“What happened?” She closes her eyes again and furrows her eyebrows. The light is harsh even through her eyelids.

“You were shot. A man whose wife had died two months ago. She was the nurse you’d called soon before she died. He started planning and then two days ago he…” His words trail off, and Clarke peeks out of her eyes to see that his head has fallen and his shoulders are shaking.

She pulls lightly at his hand and when he looks up at her through teary eyes, she whispers, “Come here.” He crawls into the bed beside her, and she wraps her arms around him, stitches be damned.

“I thought I’d lost you.” He trails kisses down her neck and along her jaw. “I didn’t want that stupid fight to be the last thing you’d remember of me.” He presses a light kiss to her lips, and she feels tears start to pool in her eyes. “I’m sorry things have been tense. I want to fix everything, but I don’t know how.”

“It’s ok.” Tears have started to stream down her cheeks now. “I keep putting distance between us. I just keep thinking that maybe the press was right. Maybe we’d gotten married too quickly. Maybe I should have waited to run for president. I don’t know.” He kisses her again, and she runs her hand up and down his arm.

“We’ll work on it.” Bellamy presses his lips against her cheek before nuzzling into her neck. “I believe in us. We’re underdogs. It’s what we do.”

The moment ends when Miller knocks on the door and opens it. “I’m sorry to interrupt Madam President, but Madam Vice President is waiting to see you.”

Clarke turns to face the door, but keeps one of her hands tangled in Bellamy’s hair. “Send her in, Nathan. Thank you.”

“Clarke?” Raven peeks her head around the door. She smiles brightly when she runs toward the bed and carefully hugs her friend. When she pulls back, Clarke can see the tears in her eyes. “Thank god you’re ok. You had me worried sick."

“I’m sorry.” Clarke smiles and grabs the woman’s hand with her own free one. She heaves out a quick sigh and laughs. “Didn’t set the country on fire while I was gone, did you?”

Raven laughs, but chokes slightly at the end when more tears come out. She’s still smiling, though. “Almost, but Wells stopped me. Said something about how it would reflect badly on your re-election campaign in two years.”

She sits in the chair beside the bed and the three of them talk for about an hour. They catch Clarke up on what’s happened in the two days she’s been sleeping. Raven hugs Clarke once more before she leaves.

Clarke is discharged the next week, and she holds Bellamy’s hand as they walk through the crowd of reporters waiting outside the hospital. She stops briefly to assure them that she is ok and to thank the hospital and doctors for saving her life. The crowd parts to let the pair into the limousine, and she sighs when the door closes, leaning back against the seat and turning her head to look at Bellamy, who gives her a smile. They hold hands all throughout the ten minute drive back to the White House, and she looks out the window to hide her smile from him.

When she steps out of the car, he lifts her into his arms. They laugh while he carries her to their room and lays her gently on the bed. She pulls him on top of her, and he keeps himself propped up with his arms beside her head.

“Really?” He asks with a laugh. “You just got out of the hospital. Don’t you want to wait?”

“I haven’t had sex with my husband in nearly a month. I’m not prepared to wait any longer.” She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down to whisper into his ear. “I’m making an executive order.”

He kisses her once more before moving down her legs. “Your wish is my command, Madam President.”

**Author's Note:**

> Before I go, I must thank the lovely [Katelyn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/troubledpancakes) for beta-ing this for me. Also, thanks to [Blanka](http://clarkslexa.tumblr.com) for providing lots of reassurance and moral support. Lastly, thank you to Joey who put aside her Calculus homework to try to work through all the problems I had with this.  
> Also, everyone makes mistakes! If you spot any that I've made, please let me know. Thank you! Have a lovely rest of your day or night.


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